SOTBW - 187

Flustered, Kharki glanced at a nearby scribe and randomly pulled out a book. Was the informant’s claim true? But how could there be no record of her when she was a knight?

Pretending to skim through the book, Kharki looked toward the restricted archives with a skeptical gaze.

Occasionally, the Vatican would issue orders to store specific individuals’ records separately in the restricted archives.

Almost everyone whose records were kept in the restricted archives had appeared in the Pope’s prophecies. Pope Letimes possessed the ability to foresee the future with pinpoint accuracy. Based on his visions, he documented them and sent the records to the archives for safekeeping.

In other words, all the books in the restricted archives were essentially written by the Pope himself. When the Pope foresaw a person’s fate, he saw everything about them—birth, death, and everything in between.

For instance, if Kharki’s record were in the restricted archives, it would include the exact date of his death, even though he was still alive. These records were akin to prophecy books that dictated the course of one’s life, which is why they were specially stored and managed in the restricted archives.

Even the Pope couldn’t perfectly remember every vision he foresaw, so he ordered the establishment of record offices in a few key cities to preserve these prophecies.

So, let’s think about it.

What were the chances that Najane’s records were in the restricted archives?

Kharki assumed the Pope wouldn’t have foreseen the future of just any outsider, but Najane was an exceptionally skilled knight capable of wielding divine energy, making it hard to draw conclusions. If Taylor Elderkerth were to die, Najane might become the last Sword Master of Bastronia. If she truly became the final Sword Master, it would make sense for her records to be stored in the restricted archives.

Kharki didn’t know much about whose records were kept in the restricted archives. Though his rank allowed him access, entering the restricted archives meant coming under the strict surveillance of the guards who followed the Chief Scribe’s orders.

Being naturally timid and cautious, Kharki’s greatest adventure thus far had been gambling. Entering the restricted archives was too risky and politically sensitive. However, as someone working in the records office, it was expected that he would eventually visit the restricted archives at least once.

Though he had avoided it out of fear until now, Kharki was curious about Najane Schnicks’ true identity. While the records in the restricted archives couldn’t be accessed by just anyone, Kharki had the authority to enter and leave freely.

Taking records out of the archives required the Pope’s seal and the Chief Scribe’s permission, but Kharki had already abandoned the idea of selling Najane’s information. If her records were indeed in the restricted archives, they must never be leaked. No matter how desperate he was for money, he couldn’t sell his dignity as a records keeper.

After surveying the countless books on the shelves, Kharki steeled his resolve and took a step forward. If not now, he might never gather the courage to enter the restricted archives again. He planned to simply confirm whether Najane’s information was classified as a restricted record and then leave immediately.

Though his pale face and obvious nervousness betrayed his anxiety, the guards, aware of his rank, didn’t question why he was entering the restricted archives.

Having smoothly passed the guards, Kharki swallowed hard. The corridor leading to the restricted archives was dark and eerie.

At the end of the hallway stood another guard. Upon seeing Kharki, the guard recorded his name in the visitor log.

“You are not allowed to stay in the restricted archives for more than ten minutes.”

The guard spoke sternly to Kharki, who could only nod in response, afraid that replying might cause his voice to tremble and raise suspicion.

The guard used three keys hanging from his neck to unlock the vault-like door of the restricted archives. As the thick iron door opened, the smell of old books flooded out.

The guard tucked the keys back into his pocket and pointed inside.

“If you ring the bell inside, we will open the door for you. Remember, ten minutes.”

The guard repeated the warning several times, as if to emphasize that Kharki shouldn’t do anything foolish. Feeling guilty despite having already abandoned the idea of selling the information, Kharki entered the restricted archives with trembling hands, his palms drenched in sweat.

As soon as Kharki stepped inside, the guard closed the door behind him. Standing on the oval-shaped floor, Kharki looked up.

Endless light poured through the arched glass ceiling, illuminating towering bookshelves that stretched so high they required craning one’s neck to see the top. Countless records were stored there, written by the current Pope and ancient seers with divine abilities until their dying moments.

Records of wars, plagues, disasters beyond human control, the tragedies of those destined to leave their mark on history, truths starkly different from what the public knew, and even documents about the Astrun era…

Overwhelmed with awe, Kharki surveyed the books before finally recalling the name Najane Schnicks.

“Ahem.”

Just then, a cough echoed from the corner. Startled, Kharki trembled like a prey animal and turned around. Amidst the tattered books, a faint human figure could be seen.

“Wh, who’s there?”

There sat an elderly man who looked over eighty, reading through some records. He pushed his glasses down to the tip of his nose and shot a sharp glance at Kharki.

“Judging by the fact that you don’t know me, you must be a newcomer. How did you manage to get in here?”

“F, a newcomer?! Despite how I look, I am a Grade 3 Scribe!”

Kharki exclaimed indignantly, causing the old man to smirk playfully.

“Kharki Ronsa? Hmm, I know you. You’re Kharki Ronsa, the Grade 3 Scribe whose main duty is transcribing court verdicts, correct?”

“Y-yes, that’s right… But how do you know me? Anyway…”

“Why are you here? You’re not someone who should be meddling with these forbidden texts.”

“Ahh, I came to look for records about Najane Schnicks…”

At the mention of that name, the old man’s previously indifferent expression turned sharp.

“And why would you be interested in her?”

“There have been strange rumors going around. They say she became a knight without any records in the archives... I know it sounds bizarre, but it caught my attention. Besides, she’s not even from Bastronia, and they say she uses divine energy. I just wanted to personally find out more about her… Is that not allowed?”

The old man stared at Kharki, seemingly questioning whether his curiosity was truly personal.

However, before entering the restricted archives, Kharki had already resolved not to share any information he found with the man who approached him. Perhaps because of his determination to avoid wrongdoing, Kharki’s usually round face appeared even purer than usual.

Seeing this, the old man couldn’t help but chuckle. Someone had clearly manipulated Kharki — a fool who didn’t even recognize the Chief Archivist of the records office — using a large sum of money to uncover secrets about Najane.

After suppressing his laughter, the old man removed his glasses and stood up.

“You should gamble less often.”

“…Huh?”

“People like you, who are cautious by nature, tend to avoid dangerous situations. That’s why you’ve been stuck transcribing court rulings all this time, isn’t it? The only reason someone like you would enter the restricted archives is if someone bribed you with money to dig up information here.”

The old man’s cold smile froze Kharki in place. Goosebumps ran up his spine, and he was too shocked to offer any excuses. Only then did Kharki fully realize what kind of place he had entered.

Terrified, Kharki trembled, his hands shaking uncontrollably as he looked at the old man. Smiling kindly, as if dealing with a grandchild, the old man patted Kharki gently on the back.

“Everyone faces a moment where they narrowly escape death. You’ve just crossed that threshold.”

Moved by the old man’s mix of kindness and sternness, Kharki’s voice quivered.

“M-me? Are you talking about me?”

“Do you still want to read her records?”

When the old man teasingly asked, Kharki shook his head violently, his face pale.

“N-no, absolutely not! Sir, though I did receive such a request, I would never betray the dignity of a scribe by touching forbidden texts...”

“I know. Fools are often kind-hearted. So, I’ll turn a blind eye to your actions this time. Just don’t entertain foolish thoughts again and focus on your duties. Do you understand?”

Though Kharki wasn’t particularly quick-witted, he could infer one thing from the old man’s words: If he had read Najane Schnicks’ records, regardless of whether he sold the information to the man from the gambling den, he would have quietly disappeared on his way home tonight.

Occasionally, scribes working in Noctis’ archives went missing, and no one ever searched for them or questioned their fate. The lesson to be learned was clear: the records held by the archives were both life-saving medicine and deadly poison, and one must never cross certain lines when handling them.

Kharki wiped the sweat pouring down his face with his sleeve. He no longer wanted to know anything. His curiosity had vanished, and all he wanted now was to escape this place as quickly as possible. Even the thought of using the money from selling information to gamble again had completely slipped his mind; Kharki was utterly terrified.

The old man, seeing just how much Kharki was trembling, patted him reassuringly and sent him off. It was fortunate that Kharki was so easily frightened. Had he stubbornly insisted on reading Najane’s records, the old man would have shown him the documents and then poisoned him afterward.

“If you’re fearful, you might lead a quiet life, but at least you’ll live longer than most.”

The old man sat back down, adjusting his magnifying glasses. He was reading an enormous, thick book that nearly covered his desk—a size perfect for personal use.

This was a record from ancient times; the front pages were worn and frayed from use, but the latter sections remained in relatively pristine condition. Had Kharki Ronsa shown even a little interest in the book, he might have noticed it, but alas, as someone destined to live long, he had overlooked it entirely.

What the old man was reading was the record of Emaydis—or more precisely, the records of all Emaydis, including Najane Schnicks.

Carefully turning the delicate pages to avoid tearing them, the old man flipped back to the first page of the book. The table of contents listed an overwhelming number of names, but only a few were marked as significant.

Emaydis Lockhart.  

Emaydis Bastronia.  

Emaydis Powley.  

After reviewing the table of contents, the old man turned the pages again. At the very end of the book lay the record of Najane Schnicks—otherwise known as Emaydis Powley.

Tracing the densely written lines with his fingers, the old man squinted as if struggling to see clearly and muttered softly under his breath:

“Year 2135 of the Milleus Calendar… March 28th. Appointed as the Grand Master of the Soles Knights by royal decree…”

After confirming the date, the old man checked today’s date.

December 28th.

Exactly two months remained until the date written in the prophecy.